


Bed Bugged

by Scubapus



Category: The Last of Us
Genre: Family Feels, Fatherhood, Other, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 20:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13372887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scubapus/pseuds/Scubapus
Summary: Five months into his second (and a half) round of fatherhood, Joel just wanted some sleep.





	Bed Bugged

**Author's Note:**

> Six months ago, I became a parent. That inspired me to write Joel in a similar scenario, because why the hell not? Of course I didn't start that idea five months in. There is chronologically earlier piece that I still haven't finished and therefore haven't posted. 
> 
> As Bill says, screw it! I'll get around to finishing it eventually. Maybe. If I want to endure the perpetual frustration of written text failing to do even a hint of justice to the experience of parenthood. I'm certain that being a mother has taken a toll on my writing abilities but am trying to stick with the hobby when I can muster opportunities.

Five months in and Joel Miller still wasn't used to hearing the little voice coming from the bassinet besides the bed.

Of course the little guy hadn’t really been all that intrigued by his own vocals until recently. He'd waited until he had mastered the art of rolling over - sudden and seemingly out of nowhere as kids did, developing at the speed of light sometimes - to begin really testing his verbal skills.

He had proceeded to start creating his baby language. Lots of raspberries. Plenty of humming, especially around his thumb, as though letting the world know how good it was. The occasional vowel drowned in a sea of consonants, like he preferred how the latter felt to his tongue.

“He sounds like a drunken Russian,” Joel had told Tess and meant it. And sometimes Waylon was as cranky as one.

Now, and the majority of time, he was impatiently happy. Impatient in that he wanted attention but didn't want to directly demand it. Oh no. He just let it be known through escalating volume and a barrage of as many sounds as his mouth could make. Burbles and bubbles, wildly fluctuating  _ mms _ and  _ hmms _ . High pitches that dropped into lows, sprinkled with  _ goos _ and  _ ahhs _ and  _ ooos _ . 

Joel, bedhead hair standing on end and standing in a display of silver smattered chaos, did his best to ignore the infant’s busy attempts. He knew that the second he opened his eyes and met that huge, smiling pair, it would all be over. He'd be forced to forfeit any hopes of sleep that weren't already dashed.

Because he knew how it went. The boy would pop his head up and really go to town with his demands. He would flail his arms in excitement and spit up a storm with elated squeals and kick the heck out of the bassinet. That chubby face would light up in that infectious, unbridled way that made everyone melt. And surrender.

And give-in.

That just wasn't allowed to happen. Not with how damn tired his old man was. Joel swore he'd die if he didn't get another hour of shut-eye.

_ Boy's try’na kill me _ , he thought with all possible fondness. And then he silently pleaded,  _ Just take a nap, ya lil’ brat _ .

To which Waylon sensed and responded with a smiley,  _ Bbbffvvvvvd _ ! He gave a dorky giggle and flexed his short, round fingers in the air in a gesture of ‘gimme gimme’. He kicked out with one leg and struck his bed solid enough to make it shake. Then he squealed while rolling onto his face and then back a second later, sucking loudly on his thumb with lips curled in a smile.

Peeling open one crusted eye, just the slightest bit as to avoid detection, Joel witnessed that knowing glint and the bunching of chubby cheeks around a gummy and gaping grin.

Tess sure did pork him out with all her milk. There wasn't a doubt in the world. Their kid had more rolls than a bread basket, even though he was always wiggling and growing and burning through endless energy.

Joel almost wished the boy was crying. As bad as it sounded, it was easier to tune out than the boy boisterously knocking himself out for attention. It was only when the infant was full of hot air that he could disregard him. When he had a full stomach and a clean diaper and just complained to complain, it didn't do any harm for his parents to ignore his little shows.

Usually the boy would pitch a fit...only to lift his head and look to see if anyone was watching. Then break into a huge toothless grin if he noticed an audience. If not, he would drop his noggin and resume his fussing and belt out more cries until he got what he wanted or fell asleep.

Waylon hadn't started that yet. He usually was too sunny for it in the morning. His father wasn't. Joel had groaned out a half-ass protest when Tess had laid their baby down after his breakfast nursing and gone on her way, making some comment about gathering laundry before wall duty. Made sense since last Joel had seen, there had been diapers aplenty swaying on the clothesline.

God knew they couldn't keep their little fire hydrant naked. Without a diaper, all hell was bound to break loose. He was convinced that their boy was half bladder from experience.

Turning his back to the baby, Joel knew he had to err on the side of caution. Overstepping the line meant that he'd be fetching Waylon from his bassinet in much worse mood. In the worst case scenario, the infant would be red as a tomato in the face and completely rigid with young rage, hands fisted and fixed by his ears. He'd let the world know how he'd been wronged, though for how shrill his cry was, it wasn't as loud as most others.

His fits weren't anything a distracting toy couldn't break him out of. He was rarely inconsolable. Propping Waylon on his belly high on his shoulder usually helped him snap out of his worst fits, combined with firm back pats. Even then, it wasn't a situation Joel wanted either of them to end up in.

Keen as the little tyke was, Waylon called his bluff with a gleeful squeal. Joel wondered if, with the following flurry of motion and giggling inhales, if the baby was trying to convince him to come join a party. Much better than having the tides turn. While he could do so much, like ‘fly’ the small nugget around or change his diaper - since that had become Waylon’s happiest play time - or tickle his belly and feet with silly smooches, he didn't have the power of Tess’ boobs. Sometimes nursing was the only thing that could calm and comfort their little man.

Not that Joel could blame him because her rack worked magic over grown men.

At his age, Waylon was becoming increasingly sensitive. He was discovering his emotions, after all. That meant he wasn't as mellow as he used to be. Sometimes he was slow to settle at the breast and needed to hold his mother's finger in his chubby hand while suckling. He was just beginning to develop separation anxiety and was quicker to tears when upset. He was more easily scared by noises when before, he had been immune to them. When anything happened suddenly and unexpectedly, his face would widen in fright and then crumble into the deepest, soul-wrenching frown. 

He had also begun having night terrors, sending both parents scrambling to get to his side and gather him up. Fortunately they didn't occur regularly but when they did, Joel felt awful for him and knew Tess felt the same.

Their boy had also ditched the bottle in favor of exclusively nursing. Joel didn't take it personally and didn't blame him, since there was nothing more warm and snuggly for the lil’ guy than nosing up to his mother's breast and relaxing into that softness while filling his belly with warm, sweet milk.

It was inconvenient, however. Though Joel knew he was a pro with wielding the bottle. He'd had to be with Sarah, after her mother ditched them, and he had recently bottle fed his niece when Maria and Tommy had been busy with official township business. Waylon had accepted the bottle like a champ too, to his workaholic mother’s benefit - until a month ago. For whatever reason, and out of the blue, he’d decided to turn his nose up and his face away from any food source but her. 

That meant Tess had to handle all night feedings herself. Needless to say, she had become….a less than pleasant person some mornings. Sleep deprivation could do that even to a saint. Which Tess sure as hell wasn't.

Unable to judge her, Joel knew didn't manage much better. He did enough of his own grumbling and grouching. And he was still surprised he had to explain one of his most frequent sayings to Ellie the first time she’d heard him grump, “Wish my eyes would quit packin’ so many damn bags.”

As if he didn't have enough of them on a good day.

  
Then there was Tess, who knew a thing or two about under-eye circles. She loved breastfeeding but with how frequently their growing boy fed, she didn't like feeling tied down so much. It would alleviate that limitation a bit when Waylon grew just a little older - enough that he could more easily nurse in a sling while she went about her day, provided she wasn't doing anything potentially dangerous.

  
From behind Joel sounded the world's bubbliest motorboat impression. He could feel those bright blue eyes burning into his back. He rolled his hazel own, reliving the pride he felt that their son’s irises were beginning to resemble theirs more. Don't get him wrong, that brilliant cobalt was beautiful, but both his and Tess’ genes were in that kid and it was touching to see. It just wasn't readily apparent yet, with the hints of emerald and rusty overtones just visible from side view or in just the right light.

Ellie had joked that it was proof that babies hadn’t been switched at birth. “He's far too adorable to be yours,” she'd snarked. Not that she was serious but that hadn’t even been possible. At the time of his birth, there hadn’t been another young infant in town.

More and more each day, Waylon resembled his father. He was a miniature clone with freckles. While Joel reckoned that adorable attribute came from his better half, he vaguely remembered having some dotted across his nose when he had been a roughhousing kid. Then the Texas sun had scorched them off of him. Waylon sputtered gently before bumping his heels onto his mattress. He was fond of lifting both legs as high as he could and then dropping them down to the bed with a thud. Now, he was bicycling his legs and gooing to himself, his short but sharp nails scratching along sides of the bassinet. Joel could imagine his bright eyes on the ceiling now, staring with fondness up at the fan that did wonders to keep him preoccupied.

The Texan couldn't help but chuckle at the onslaught of raspberries that followed, punctuated by a gentle squeal. He froze the second the sound escaped him, intent on maintaining his position under the covers. The whole ordeal made him feel like he was a teenager again avoiding school or simply the obligation to do something vaguely productive that day. And while baby duty was his favorite responsibility and what brought the most smiles to his aged face, he preferred to do it a little more rested.

Or a lot. But beggars couldn't be choosers.

Beyond the concealment of covers, Waylon let out an audible yawn followed by a pleasant and lingering sigh. He cooed sweetly and blew out a rumbly bubble before rolling onto his stomach. By then, Joel's hopes were peaked. The sound of contented thumb sucking began, only to fade slowly into quiet stillness. 

Based on the time of day, Joel knew the boy would nap a maximum of a half hour and not a minute longer. He didn't clock his hour-long snooze until noon. But that was fine - he appreciated what extra minutes of shut-eye he could get and was really geared up to pass out the second his muscles sagged into the warm spot he had created in bed.

Waylon’s sleep schedule was suffering due to suspected teething. They couldn't be totally sure that that was the cause, given that there was no visible signs of pearly whites lurking beneath his gums, but he had began gnawing on things like no one’s business. In fact, his prime motivation for doing pull-ups, intended to help develop his upper body strength, was to latch onto their knuckles once his mouth came within range.

Letting him gum at them was a whole lot better than giving him what reserves they had salvaged of infant acetaminophen. Given that it had expired over a decade ago, no one could be confident of its effectiveness. And they sure didn't want to tamper with the dosage in the event that its properties had aged away. It wasn't worth putting their little one’s delicate liver at risk.

Instead, Joel had spent many hours allowing his clean hands to be gummed and chewed on. The boy didn't act like he was in pain any but sure behaved as though he was trying to work something to the surface. He'd suck and slobber and hold his mouth open for a firm finger rubbing, humming and enjoying the attention. Occasionally he grew so enthusiastic that he gagged himself but shortly resumed chomping away at the bony joints.

“That’s a new flavor of fist sandwich you're serving there, Joel,” Ellie commented one day while throwing a right hook through the air.

“Sure is,” he agreed with a chuckle. And it sure was. Ellie had plopped herself down across from them and watched with keen interest as Waylon held his dad's substantially larger fingertip and the base of his thumb, working his mouth at it like he was eating an ear of corn.

Those experiences were educational to Ellie. The poor girl hadn’t had much exposure to infants to begin with - but that had quickly changed. She wasn't too fond of the boy trying to use her as a teether, with her squeals of “Gross!” permeating the house while Waylon was in her care. To which Joel or Tess reminded her how they kept a stash of teethers cleaned and cool in the refrigerator.

Such a teenager. Joel made a point to tease her. “All the guts and stuff you’ve seen and a lil’ baby slobber gets to ya? C’mon now. Ain't ya changed his poopy diapers?”

To which she responded to him with a sassy talking hand. 

He told her to wait until Waylon  _ really _ began teething and informed her how all of his saliva would affect his poor digestive system. She then made a face but expressed condolence for the little guy. And then for Joel.

“He's alllll yours,” she had said flippantly before gently pinching and jiggling one of Waylon’s excitedly kicking feet.

Gone were the times of Waylon sleeping the days away, waking only to nurse before curling up in his swaddle. Joel missed that squished face of his and the downy hair he had been born with. Missed those teeny tiny feet and hands and the snuffling, rooting grunts he had made. 

He still did his best to burrow himself into Tess’ cleavage when he was hungry. That was always a sweet sight. Those extra tight, needy hugs were reserved only for her now.

Gone were the quiet coos too, virtually lost since Waylon had grown to prefer testing his vocal range and lung capacity.

Joel sure missed that lil’ dumplin' that their boy had been earlier. It seemed like that wrinkled and twitchy and uncoordinated baby had grown out of that in the blink of an eye. 

With each passing day, Waylon gained confidence. He held his head up with no visible effort and rolled smoothly with intention. He wasn't half bad at sitting up with a little support, able to hold himself for a handful of seconds before the slightest shift had him slumping over. That was what his family of spotters were for, but really, the boy didn't need more than a couple fingers stabilizing him by the back of his onesie. If nothing else, it enabled his assistant to let him down onto his back easily. 

The boy was naive enough to act like he was invincible - until something went wrong or was unexpected. Then his expression froze, crumbled, and the corners of his mega-sad mouth reached the lowermost point of his chin, bottom lip pouted so far it nearly folded on itself. Hitched breaths followed by an outpouring of real copious tears and the most heart wrenching deep “ _ Waaaahs _ !” signaled total meltdown.

Remembering Waylon’s upset expression in vivid detail made Joel smile tenderly. It was cute but damn did it make everyone feel godawful. Ellie called him a drama queen when he did that and Joel had to agree, but it wasn't like the infant could help it. He had an immense amount of developing to do and the world was still one big, scary place.

It was inevitable that someday, he would learn just how true that was.

Joel knew he would always miss the baby that used to sprawl out on his back, arms thrown out and heavy as rock, when put to bed. At least, when he hadn’t been swaddled tightly. While Waylon still did that at his most tuckered, he popped a comforting thumb in his mouth and either rolled onto his side or onto his stomach almost immediately. Tess said that their son slept like him, and Joel supposed that was true enough. But he was nowhere as adorable as Waylon when doing it.

He missed those teeny tiny hands and how they used to remained balled up or just barely opened. How he'd always curled his fingers around his own thumb and held it firmly. Now the boy was a pro at using those hands to grab anything and everything within reach - and not just that but pass objects back and forth between them or use them in unison. Despite what their collection of books said about physical benchmarks and how those skills should have developed recently, Waylon had been good at it for months.

Joel couldn't help but miss that curled up little loaf of a baby that stared up with dark and glossy eyes while being tenderly bathed. The one with a more prominent brow and flatter nose and puckered lips. The one with the teeny tiniest yet perfect ears. The one with downy soft lanugo dusted on his neck and back, tapering off past his hidden, weak shoulder blades.

While it was difficult to grasp that the newborn he had bonded so strongly to was the same as his five month-old son, who he loved just as much but who just seemed so wildly  _ different _ , nothing changed the truth. The boy he had grown to be was so interactive and fun now. He had a dorky chortle and grabby hands that brought everything to his mouth. Those feet of his were always in air when he was on his back, burbling to his toys or family. And he was well on his way to sitting up unsupported, able to grasp and manipulate objects and shake his rattles the way they were intended to be..

It was shocking to think that their baby would be six months soon. Six months - a large benchmark even back in the day, when the world wasn’t such an insane and fatal place. Now, it was even more significant that Waylon was nearing that age. In less than a month, the boy would be halfway to a year old.

_ Halfway to a year _ , Joel’s mind repeated incredulously, and then thought in awe.  _ Ain’t time the damnedest thing? _

It was a challenge to keep track of when one was so impossibly, ridiculously, unbelievably, and seemingly  _ permanently  _ exhausted.

Needless to say, Waylon was thriving. The nap he  _ should _ have been taking would help his mind grow and develop at its rapid rate. And while he fussed sometimes when being laid down, his cries only lasted for five minutes. Since four months, he had been quite the independent sleeper. Tess had chosen to break his reliance of nodding off at the breast...but since neither of them, as his parents, had seen it as problematic, they hadn't forced it.

She still allowed Waylon’s preference when his feeding was due around bedtime. Joel still loved happening across her cuddling their son to her bare breast and seeing his short fingers curled around hers for comfort. He knew he would never tire of watching those round cheeks expand and then draw in while suckling or the way the dark sweep of his lashes fluttered gently.

Without a doubt, Waylon was the best damn thing he and Tess had ever accomplished together. Him saving Ellie from the flawed logic of the Fireflies was his personal best since the outbreak, and the rapidly blossoming teenager was just as important to him. She was no less family than the baby boy who shared their genes. And she was an extremely valuable asset around the house, just as she was to Jackson, in helping raise her little brother. Joel reckoned that the boy would be as bright and sharp as the two women helping shape him and knew that if he developed even half their brains, he'd do just fine. Those gals gave Joel so much to be proud of.

It also meant that he, as a father, was in for a whole mess of trouble - but then Ellie did her damnedest to remind him of that already.

His lips splitting into a tired, albeit chuckling grin, Joel gave an incredulous stir of his eyes before they rolled back behind his lids. As Tess and Ellie made a point of reminding him, he was far too old for any of this. “Kids make ya young,” Tommy had said not long ago, elbowing him with a wink that said they  _ both _ knew better. And then he'd added, “So when’s Tess havin’ the next one? ‘Cause you're gonna need it, ya damn ol' coot.”

Joel reckoned that the intensity of his glare sufficed as his reply. The way the color bled from his younger brother’s face agreed.

No more kids  _ ever _ , he and Tess had agreed the split second they mutually understood that they had conceived. She had spent every month of her pregnancy threatening to sterilize him personally and violently. The scenarios she had verbally painted were both memorable and believable. And while he was equally willing to end his reproductive ability, the methods he preferred weren't so barbaric.

Besides, they both loved their sleep far too much to sacrifice it more than they already had. So far, they had screwed themselves out of five months of shut eye that they'd never get back and that wasn't even the full of it. 

Joel wanted to sigh so heavily just thinking of that painful truth but he didn't dare. The only way to remind himself of the trade-off was to remember how love blossomed throughout his chest whenever he saw their baby boy smile. There really wasn't another feeling anything like it.

Sure, things came close. Like Ellie throwing her entire weight into the hugs she gave him. And catching Tess giving him one of those gazes that made her entire face radiant, freckles and all. 

Beyond that, well, in the rare event that Tommy admitted that had been wrong and that his older brother had been right, he was known to puff his chest and strut like a proud rooster. But he’d sure as hell trade all of those moments for the flood of warm emotions his girls and son gave him.

In his sleepy state, Joel thought to the day ahead and how he would spend it once he unearthed himself from bed and tended to his son. He could almost feel Waylon’s soft sides beneath tickling fingers. Knew he’d scoop up the boy beneath his pudgy arms and take him straight to the changing table in the nursery across the hallway. He could already see his son’s rounded face light up with that heartwarming gummy smile while his eyes squinched up and glittered between his outrageously long lashes. 

His chins used to bunch up when he did it but now his one was full of chub.

Bravely, Joel released a sigh and turned onto his back, settling heavily. From experience, he knew that sleeping in any other position guaranteed a sore back. At his age, carpentry was one hell of a job. He was well equipped to do it and it kept him in shape, ensuring he would be able to hold Waylon at arms reach and fly him through the air like a superhero. But constructing buildings and maintaining Jackson's understandably struggling structures could prove literally backbreaking. While he felt great pride in doing it, and a powerful responsibility in ensuring that Jackson would stand when his son began his own family, it came at a physical cost.

Which was why he needed his sleep. And he slept best when able to keep an eye on his little man. So he turned toward him, shifting to rest on his left shoulder, fully intending to drift off while watching the reassuring rise and fall of his son’s chest.

Except the second he laid eyes on him, the five month old’s head reared up and their gazes met. An elated squeal erupted from that toothless grin as Joel groaned, realizing he had been defeated. 

He had fallen for that trap. He had been so convinced that the boy was out cold - but the contrary stared him in the face, clear as the day that was shining through the window curtains. The outburst that left the child was one of victory, as he rolled smoothly onto his back and began flailing his limbs in excited abandon. 

Every day, Waylon became more consciously adamant for attention. He didn't need it so much as he actively chose it, enjoying his little family. And with how quickly he was developing, seemingly picking up new skills every day, it didn't seem like it would be long until he could toddle to the bed and beg to be lifted up or crawl his way in.

Once he was able to sit on his own, there would be no stopping him.

From the bassinet, fingers flexed and stretched. They so badly wanted to bury themselves into his dad’s beard and tug just as they did when Joel smothered his ticklish belly in grizzly kisses. The infant was panting in eager anticipation, giggling under hitched breaths. Soon after, those wet sputters began again with the utmost enthusiasm.

_ Sweet Jesus _ , the Texan pleaded to the ceiling,  _ somebody save me _ .

Joel reckoned he'd have to just get up and die now...to make Waylon the happiest boy in the world. All so his son could hug him as he lifted him up and nuzzle in with a delighted sigh. That was one of the best things ever, feeling the baby make a nest against him with a satisfied snuffle.

About dying - Joel hardly felt he was kidding. Of course he had assumed that fate for himself too many times to keep track of, particularly since he’d gained a son. That didn’t mean he didn’t expect it to actually happen, out of pure exhaustion, because he most definitely did. He was just  _ waiting _ for it to happen. 

Because it would. At any minute. He was sure of it.

At least his corpse would still be warm when Tess came to steal the boy away.

**Author's Note:**

> Ain't no mama got time to fix bitchy formatting multiple times. Hopefully it turned out alright.


End file.
